


We'll Always Have Cuba

by lorale_fontana



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorale_fontana/pseuds/lorale_fontana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strings had already begun to unravel between Erik and Charles. The death of Shaw. The beginning of the Brotherhood. However, there is a time in between Cuba and New York, a moment unexplained. How did Charles get from one point to another in the state the bullet left him in? Let's find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Always Have Cuba

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't shake the moment from my conscience. The movie left them unfinished, whether by word from the director or the producers. Those were their intentions, these are mine.

Charles.  
The wet sand clung to his hair, the grit rubbing at his skin as Moira smoothed his hair from his face in loving embrace. As he fades from consciousness on that beach in Cuba his thoughts jumble and bump into one another, an onslaught of mixed emotions and sensory overload. Pain. Erik. Pain pain. Erik. Gone. Empty. Pain pain. Pain pain pain. Lost. Friend. Pawn. PAIN. Shaw. Friend. PAIN. Enemy. ERIK. Pain Pain PAIN PAIN!!!!!!! He gives in to the blackness, letting his head fall back as the waves swept more grit into his hair. Moira looked up from Charles to approaching footsteps. Cuban militants. With guns. She tightens her hold on Charles. 'What do we do now?' 

 

Moira tries to make it off of Cuba with a crippled Charles, stopped by patrolling officers who have many difficult questions for them. 

Moira.  
They'll never believe that the CIA had anything to do with the missiles going off in their waters. Even if they did it might not be a good idea. They were in so much hot water.  
Handcuffed to her chair, she shifts restlessly as the man across her eyes her menacingly, his holster unbuttoned. He riffled through a file that lay open on the table between them. Moira starts off slowly "I'm telling you. My husband and I were going on a scuba diving trip but we were ambushed and he was shot in the back. We don't know how those ships have anything to do with us!"  
He eyes her menacingly, unconvinced by her sudden conviction. "Mizz Moira, was it?" She nods. "If you two were just two... innocent bystanders then perhaps... you can explain... why you are wearing such strange uniforms? Or perhaps we should question.... your lack of personal luggage. I imagine... those are.... important for any such honeymoon?" His words were slow, the meaning behind his deliberation. She had to play it up. "We travel light and we -- we like to match as a couple! What does this have anything to do with my husband?"  
"You are.... married?"  
"Yes", she nods quickly.  
"Ah, well in that case... perhaps you two would be... able to provide passports... to show your welcome stay into Cuba... as well as your .... identities." He smiled.  
"We -- I" She thinks quickly. "They're at our hotel. But please, tell me, where is my husband? I want to see him! Please, is he alright?" She lets the tears gather in the corners of her eyes. The man did not look impressed. He merely looked down at the file and closed it up. He got up and headed for the door. Opening the door, he turns back. "He is stable. He will be detained in the hospital for the remainder of your stay... I will send in one of my men to collect information... as to your hotel to retrieve your belongings." He walks out and the door slams behind him. She sinks back into her chair. 'Charles', she thinks. 'How do we get out of this one, Charles?'  
*PFF* Startled by the strange noise, she looks into the corner and sees.... A red devil smiling back at her. 

Erik is still watching. He may have floated a distance away from the beach, but he was still watching. His eyes grow dark at the sight of Moira clinging to Charles' motionless body. He sees the soldiers collect them, hauling Moira and a strained Charles off the beach of broken machinery and metal debris. He clings to the metal fastenings on their bodies, riding with them using his mutation. He watches as Moira gets traded off to the police station while Charles goes a little further to a dingy-looking hospital. The U.S. government would be down here soon to see if there were any survivors from the beach. If they knew Charles then the CIA would retain ownership over him due to his telepathy. Charles would be their lab rat, rendered defenseless first by his moral code and second by his recent 'accident'. Erik sighed, his new helmet vibrating with anger and sadness. He owed Charles this much. Never mind that it was Moira who pulled the trigger, but Charles saw him as the one who broke him. He was not the better man. Erik bristled. 'I am the better mutant.' He straightened up, moving through the brush. He saw soldiers by the front of the hospital, armed with AK-47s. Before they spot him, he yanks the guns from their arms and aims them back at the soldiers. Baffled, and somewhat bewildered, they slowly raise their arms and kneel on the ground. With a wave of his hand, the guns disassemble, metal and bullets falling to the ground. They run. Erik smiles. Power in his hands.  
He sweeps past nurses and doctors, looking for one Charles Xavier. He passes and door and goes back. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, a steady string of *beeps* for every heartbeat. He enters Charles' room, taking a moment to watch his brow furrow in disturbed sleep, pulling at the handcuffs attached to the sides of the bed. Erik sits at his side. He pauses. He lifts the helmet off, the only wall between him and Charles. He is challenging Charles, goading in his playful submission. "Well Charles", he thinks aloud, "this is the only moment I leave myself to you". Charles turns to him in sleep, fighting his eyes to slits, trying to put an image to the voice forcing him out of drug-induced sleep. He reaches out and goes no further than the handcuff allows. He groans and falls back into the confusion of broken silence and new memories. Erik looks down at the handcuffs. They unclick. Erik then thinks better of his task. He lets them melt off of Charles' wrists, silver puddles on the floor along with his helmet. He detaches the monitor and the other nodes. He gathers him up in his arms tenderly, pulling Charles' uniform from the closet and setting it on a wheelchair left in the room. He walks out as the wheelchair follows. He laid his cheek on Charles' head. His lips pressed against his hair, but he did not press further. *PFF PFF* Azazel has retrieved the annoying American woman. He glares at her before nodding to Azazel. "Don't forget the chair, too." Azazel nods, expanding his range. *PFF* Traveling with Azazel felt akin to riding a fast car through a blizzard with the top off. Thankfully it last only two seconds. They are on a Cuban airstrip with a private jet ready for takeoff. Erik holds Charles, tucking his head under his chin when Charles whimpers at the sudden trip. "Shhh... Easy, Charles."

Raven and Emma had seen to the accommodations, steering the pilot to aim for Florida, refuel and head for New York. He climbs the steps of the aircraft, sliding carefully for Charles. He walks in and places him in his seat, the buckles waiting to slide into place around his waist. He levels the chair, removing Charles' X-Men uniform and his helmet, folding it away and tucking it behind his seat. He gets down on one knee to make sure he is safely fastened, ignoring a concerned Moira occupying the chair across the small aisle from Charles. Erik blocks her view, taking in one more look of Charles sleeping. Erik presses his palm to Charles' cheek, wishing there were another way to make him see. Closing his eyes, he buries his nose into the top of that shaggy head. "Goodbye, Charles." He inhales slowly and kisses his head. He slowly pushes away when he notices a tug on his sleeve. Charles had curled his fingers into Erik's sleeves, desperate to hold on to him.  
Erik chuckles as he pulls away, firmly placing Charles' arms onto the chair armrests. His smile fades when he notices a lone tear slide down Charle's cheek. He comes in close. ' I'm sorry, Charles. I'm sorry it has to be this way.'  
Erik walks away abruptly, his lips burning with the tear he kissed from Charles' cheek. He puts on his helmet. He is Magneto. He has always meant to be. No one would take that away from Erik, no one would hurt him. He would never break, not even.... for a dear friend. He watches as the plane takes off, drifting into the eye of the sun. 

New York, Westchester County (two days later)  
So... Erik had truly left him. They all had. Raven. Angel. Banshee. Havoc. Beast? It didn't seem likely and yet... Only Moira stayed. Here he was, standing betrayed by all the ones who he thought of as family. The anger sprouted a seed. No longer Erik. There was no Raven. There were only Magneto and Mystique. They were lost to him. But he could not think of them or their vendetta. There were more mutants out there looking for guidance. He took a deep soothing breath. He would need to be here to help them, not lost within his own sorrows.  
When they got back to the house Hank and Alex stood there waiting. Moira pushed Charles in his wheelchair towards them. They looked up sheepishly from their disheveled uniforms. Alex said, "We didn't know where you left the extra key." Charles laughed, shocked he could still make such a happy sound. But it was promising. Charles smiled, hopeful. He was determined to live in a world outside of Erik's view. It was the only way to show him that there was such a way mutants could live in peace. It would take time, but it was his new mission in life.  
He looked at them, seriously, "Well boys, it would appear that we have a lot of work to do." Hank smiles, agreeing, "Yes, Professor."

**Author's Note:**

> Charles never knew, but now you do. Erik has a heart, no matter evidence that speaks different.


End file.
